Belfast Mountains

It was on the banks of Claudy I heard a maid complain

Setting forth her lamentations down by yon pearling stream

Saying here I am confined by the growing binds of love

All for a bonny sailor boy who did inconstant prove

And oh you Belfast mountains can you grant me no relief

Have you got no tongue to flatter with nor ease me of my grief

Have you got no tongue to flatter with nor ease me of my pain

Sure it's hard to love an old sweetheart and not be loved again

She threw her arms around me as we were going to part

She threw her arms around me saying"You're my own sweetheart"